


recalibration

by assassinactual



Series: endlessly upward [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-15 05:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7210232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassinactual/pseuds/assassinactual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Root and Shaw settling back into a normal life. Well, normal for them at least.</p><p>Set in my Samaritan is defeated and everyone is alive and happy and okay universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the beginning after the end

Shaw is so deep into exhaustion and sleep deprivation that the door of Root’s hospital room opening actually catches her off guard. It takes a long moment to realize it’s only Harold, and several more to lower her gun.

“Oh,” he says. He doesn’t flinch at the gun aimed at him, just seems a little surprised. More at Shaw’s presence than being held at gunpoint by her. “Miss Shaw. I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“Told her I’d stay here, didn’t I?” she says with a shrug. She promised that, and other regrettable things, in the few moments Root had been awake.

Harold smiles faintly, and tries to hide it from Shaw, as he sets his briefcase and hat on the table.

“While I’m sure Root appreciates the sentiment, I doubt she will want you exhausting yourself needlessly. She is safe. The Machine is watching over her, and Samaritan’s agents are no longer a threat.” He shuffles closer, looks like he’s going to put his hand on her shoulder before he thinks better of it and instead pulls another chair up beside Root’s bed. “Get some rest, Sameen. You have certainly earned it.”

She frowns, but knows he’s right. She’s hardly slept at all in the week since they got Harold’s number. Since the day all of them, even the Machine, thought Root was dead for a few hours. In the forty-eight hours since Samaritan’s defeat, she’s hardly left Root’s side. She knows logically that the Machine lost track of Root due to Samaritan’s interference, and that that is no longer a threat. But a part of still doesn’t fully trust Her.

“He’s right, Sam.” Root’s voice comes as a feeble croak. Shaw quickly checks her vital signs on the monitor then hands her a cup of water.

“I thought I told you to rest,” she says as Root sips the water.

“I will if you will. You look like you could use it.”

“Are you saying I don’t look good?” Shaw says. It’s almost a reflex for her to engage Root and push back like this. The little bit of normalcy, and the fact that Root is awake and responding to her, is a comfort to Shaw.

“I’m saying you won’t be able to protect me when you collapse from sleep deprivation in a couple hours.” Root pauses to take another sip of water then she continues, obviously sensing Shaw hasn’t been convinced yet. “She’ll watch me, and She’ll let you know if I need your help, okay?”

She feels more at ease hearing Root say this, even though her words echo what Harold just said, and Shaw’s own thoughts. She gives Root a single sharp nod, stands up, and moves as if reaching towards Root. Maybe to grasp her hand or some other unusually gentle and intimate gesture. Then she remembers Harold’s there even if he’s pretending to be very interested in his phone at the moment, and stops herself. She covers it up by drawing one of her guns and hiding it under the blanket at Root’s side.

Even though she’s drugged up and barely conscious, Root still catches it and gives Shaw a little knowing look. Shaw coughs and looks away. “Just – don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

She half expects a retort like _‘So I can do stupid things while you’re here?’_ But Root just nods, closes her eyes, and settles back onto her pillow.

Harold bids her good night as she gathers up her coat. She merely grunts in reply as she steps out the door, suddenly feeling the exhaustion that’s built up over the last few days settle on her more heavily. She stops for moment in an empty section of the hallway and looks directly at a security camera.

“You call me the moment anything happens, got it?” She waits until the camera blinks then stalks off towards the exit. Then she turns back to the camera once more and says “And I could’ve made it to at least midnight, okay?”

 

She barely lasts the short subway ride and walk back to Root’s safe house. As she’s kicking her boots off and climbing into bed Shaw mutters “Stupid know it all Machine.” She’s asleep the moment her head hits the pillow.

 

The safe house is one Root acquired shortly before Shaw’s return. It’s a nice apartment, on the sixth floor of an older building that’s been modernized. The windows are a bit on the large side for Shaw’s taste, but the walls are good solid brick and it’s directly across from a park so there’s no good lines of fire into it. Shaw checked.

But having only been occupied for a couple weeks it’s not especially well stocked. Cash, guns and IDs enough for a quick getaway. A good bed in one of the bedrooms, an expensive looking leather couch, and a couple stools at the kitchen island in the open plan main room. But little in the way of food or cooking equipment.

So Shaw takes some of Root’s emergency cash and sets out in search of breakfast for herself. And maybe for Root, too. She saw the kind of food the hospital expects her to eat.

 

She’s sitting in a nearby café, sipping her coffee and eying the selection of pastries. She’s considering what Root would like, and considering getting seconds for herself. Then her earpiece _beeps_.

“ _Hey there, beautiful._ ” Root’s voice comes through bright and clear, obviously from the Machine. “ _Wanna do something for me?_ ”

“Not really,” Shaw grumbles. “But I’m probably going to anyways, so just spit it out.”

“ _Sorry._ ” Shaw scoffs at the Machine’s precise mimicry of Root’s not-really-apologizing tone. “ _It’s a bit time sensitive. There’s going to be a couple hitmen in need of an emergency kneecap reduction passing by in about ten minutes._ ”

Shaw perks up a bit. It’s been a few days since she got any action and run-of-the-mill hitmen would be a nice change from trained Samaritan operatives.

“Wouldn’t want to miss that party. Wait. Can you get someone to take some actual food to Root?”

“ _Aww, it’s so sweet how you’re worried about her._ ”

She idly wonders how one would go about strangling an AI, and if She would enjoy it as much as Root.

 

About ten minutes, give or take an abbreviated gunfight later, she’s speeding away from the scene of the attempted crime at the wheel of her teenage number’s car. Her teenage number who isn’t terrified or confused like they usually are. Instead she’s studying Shaw in an inquisitive, calculating way.

“Are you some kind of bodyguard? Did my dad hire you?” she asks, apparently unconcerned by Shaw’s violent maneuvering of her car.

“No. I’m a concerned third party.”

This seems to satisfy her. “Oh, cool. So you’re like some kind of vigilante.”

Shaw doesn’t say anything further, concentrating on trying to lose the one remaining hitman pursuing them.

“ _Need a hand, sweetie? Or an eye, I guess._ ”

“I’ve got it under control.” A glance in the mirror shows the hitman’s BMW getting disconcertingly close to her number’s old Honda Civic. And he seems to be trying to aim a gun out the window. “And I’m _not_ your sweetie.”

“ _Whatever you say, sweetie. Left here._ ” The Machine says just as they’re coming to an intersection. Shaw jerks the wheel and the Civic takes a violent turn to the left, joining in with the flow of traffic. There’s a _bang_ and _crunch_ behind them as the hitman, not forewarned, is t-boned by a garbage truck.

“Heh. Watch where you’re going, idiot.” Shaw checks on her number. She’s looking at her with an odd sort of gleam in her eye. “What?”

“Who was on the phone? Do you have some kind of partner? Are you dating them?”

Shaw groans and resists the urge to bang her head on the steering wheel.

“You know, you remind of this other nosey kid I saved once.”

 

When Shaw finally gets to the hospital after dropping her number off with her parents, and a quick stop to pick up lunch, she finds Root checking herself out.

“I can walk, Lurch. I was shot in the chest, not the leg. Jeez,” she says as she brushes off John trying to offer her a wheelchair. Harold is behind them and appears resigned to whatever Root has decided to do. He spots Shaw first, and Root quickly notices where he’s looking. Her annoyed expression quickly turns into a smile. “Sameen! Guess who got a clean bill of health?”

She seems to be excessively proud of her apparent miraculously speedy recovery. The effect is ruined a bit by the way she winces when she moves her right arm a little too much in its sling.

“Not you,” Shaw says as she approaches Root. She pulls her shirt aside to check her bandages. Those are neat and well done, and she doesn’t seem to be actively bleeding at least. Being in public, Root manages to restrain herself to merely leaning into Shaw’s touch a bit. Shaw, used to her being much more forward, easily ignores it. “So if Harold took a look at their patient database he wouldn’t find any evidence of _someone_ hacking into it?”

“He wouldn’t find any evidence, no,” she says with a confident little smirk.

Shaw shakes her head. She knows there won’t be any changing Root’s mind now that she’s decided to do this. “If you bust this open,” she says, gently poking Root’s shoulder, “and start bleeding all over the place, you’re hauling your own ass back here.” But there’s no real force behind her words. Root, of course, picks up on this.

“Whatever you say, darlin’.”

 

John and Harold leave to get some things from the subway for Root after dropping Root and Shaw off at the apartment. (She can’t live without her shag rug apparently.) Their solitude is short lived though. Lionel calls Shaw for backup less than an hour later.

Root’s already said bye to her as she was packing her bag with extra ammo. Kissed her on the cheek, too, which caused Shaw groan in disgust and wipe furiously at her cheek. But as she’s stepping out the door, she feels compelled to say something. To express something she’s meant to tell Root for the last few days but somehow never got around to it.

Root’s already engrossed in something on her laptop, and barely reacts at first when Shaw calls her name. “Hmm?” she say distractedly, taking a few seconds to pull her attention away from her computer. “Sweetie?”

“Look, I don’t care if we’re all just shapes or whatever. I like your shape the way it is.” Root processes this for a moment, then breaks into a brilliant smile.

Shaw gives her a little nod, then leaves before she can say anything else compromising.

 

Fusco’s job ends up being incredibly dull and requiring very little gunfire, but it takes most of the day. It’s sometime close to midnight when Shaw wanders into the subway.

It’s the third time she’s been back here, but she still feels a sense of uneasiness and a prickle behind her left ear as she enters. She ignores the feeling as best she can and heads over to Root’s little nest. There, she feels a bit more comfortable. Maybe because it’s so different from the spartan room it was before. Maybe just because it’s Root’s space.

As she lays down on the bed and tries to sleep, she thinks of looking for a place of her own in the morning. With Samaritan gone, she’s no longer restricted to hiding in the shadows and the subway and safe houses. Having a space of her own again would be nice.

Root’s safe house isn’t a bad place, and she surprisingly hasn’t yet found herself wanting space away from Root. Root doesn’t seem to want space either. That’s the problem, really, and why she’s in the subway right now instead of with Root.

She’s comfortable with Root. Almost too comfortable. Too easy. Samaritan spent so long trying to trick her that there’s still a little part of her that thinks it’s too good to be true. Like the prickle behind her ear when she entered the subway, the urge to stay away from Root flares up sometimes, to keep her distance and keep Root safe.

But never when she’s actually with Root. With her, things feel safe and real.

Fuck it, Shaw thinks, sitting up and reaching under the bed for her boots.

Fuck Samaritan.

She didn’t go to war with an evil AI god just to let it dictate her life after its dead. She didn’t beat it seven thousand times to let it keep her away from what she wants. It’s dead, she’s alive, and she’s going to spend the night with Root if she wants.

 

She wakes to Root calling her name. She’s surrounded by Root’s scent and feels a familiar sort of safety. She’s gotten used to waking up beside Root in the past couple weeks, even if she’s usually the first to get up. She rolls over –

And slams down onto the floor in front of the couch, her fall cushioned slightly by Root’s shag rug. “Fucking hell,” she curses to herself.

Then she sees Root, standing there looking confused. “Shaw?” she says again.

Her hair’s mussed and she’s rubbing at one eye sleepily. Other than her black _Roots_ sweater with the _s_ cut off, she’s wearing only her underwear, leaving her ridiculous long legs exposed. Shaw allows herself to stare for a moment to distract herself from how sickeningly adorable Root looks. She’s so entranced by Root’s legs she doesn’t notice her walking over until she’s practically on top of Shaw.

She cranes her neck back to see Root’s face. Even in her state of sleepy confusion she seems to have picked up that something is a bit off. But she seems to be content to merely observe Shaw for now, and just holds out her left hand for her.

Shaw accepts Root’s hand, and being careful not to let Root take too much of her weight and re-injure herself, allows Root to help her to her feet.


	2. wake in the morning and know what it was for

Root has only slept in the bed at her safe house a handful of times, and most of those have been with Shaw. She’s gotten a bit too used to having her there, and without her it feels too empty and too lonely. So she wanders out of the bedroom early after a restless first night out of the hospital to find something unexpected. More precisely, someone.

Sameen, asleep on the couch.

Sameen, asleep on the couch, wrapped in Root’s leather jacket.

She rubs her eyes, trying to figure why she’s on the couch and not in bed. The nice, comfortable, warm bed that Root was in, and would still be in if Sameen was by her side.

“Shaw?”

She doesn’t move for a second or two. Then she stirs, and starts to roll over. Root wants to warn her, or grab her to keep from falling. But her reaction time has never been up to par first thing in the morning. Especially when she didn’t get a good night’s sleep because _someone_ didn’t come to bed.

Then there’s a _bang_ , and Shaw’s sitting on her ass in front of the couch.

She’s torn between giggling at the absurdity of it and rushing to Shaw’s side to see if she’s alright. But again, her reaction time isn’t the best at the moment, so she does neither. Just rubs her eyes and calls her name again.

When Sameen looks at her, for a moment she has an almost soft expression that Root can’t quite read, but thinks is similar to the one she wears when she sees Bear. Then it’s gone, and she becomes fixated on Root’s bare legs. She gets a vague sense that she should throw some sort of flirtation back at Shaw, but she’s too tired and too confused to follow through.

The uncertainty she’s felt a couple times with Shaw since her return creeps back in. It’s an unsettling, sick sort of feeling. It leaves her off balance, unused to feeling like this with anyone, much less Shaw. Sometimes, most of the time even, it feels like they’re picking up more or less where they left of a year ago, and fall into the same comfortable dynamic. Shaw has even been opening up to her, just the tiniest bit, but for her it’s huge. Other times, Shaw will become more distant, and Root unsure of what to do. She’s knows that sometimes Shaw expects and wants Root to pull her back in, to coax whatever it is she’s thinking out of her. But Root isn’t as confident that she can read Shaw, what she wants, and what her boundaries are as well as she did.

Last night, for example. After living with her for a week, then sitting by her side and taking care of her in the hospital, Shaw simply vanished. Root was worried, but the Machine said she was safe, and Root wanted to let her have her space. Showing up asleep on the couch is – well, Root doesn’t know what to make of it.

She’s in front of Sameen now. She looks especially tiny sitting on the floor at Root’s feet. Root wants to ask her – something. But she doesn’t know precisely what, and senses the time isn’t right anyway.

She offers her hand to Sameen to help pull her to her up. She takes it, putting hardly any weight on Root, obviously being overly careful of her injury. Root, in what is for her and exceedingly subtle move, pulls Sameen into her as she helps her up. Sameen lets her, rests her hands loosely on Root’s hips, and even leans in to her and nestles her face against Root’s neck for a moment.

The contact is brief, but she feels a familiar a familiar rush of excitement at Sameen’s closeness. When she pulls back, she doesn’t completely disengage, leaving them with their arms wrapped around each other and very much in each other’s space.

“I, uh, got in late last night,” she others without prompting. “Didn’t want to wake you up.” Root doesn’t see any dishonesty in this, but it feels like she’s leaving something out.

“I wouldn’t have minded,” Root says. It comes in a smaller, less flirtatious voice than she intended.

Sameen holds her gaze steadily, and gives a tiny, quick nod. Then she pulls back slightly, though still not letting go of Root. It’s subtle, but Root sees the slight shift of her weight and the way her eyes drift over in the direction of the kitchen.

Trust Sameen to not let whatever’s going on affect her appetite.

Root’s still not quite sure about things between them right now, but Sameen is here with her. She lightly pats Sameen’s ass, and says “See, that shag rug wasn’t such a bad idea.”

 

Later, John comes by, and brings Bear with him. Shaw lets them in, and ignores John in favour of bending down and greeting Bear. He wags his tail happily and licks her face, then makes a beeline for Root. He sits in front of the couch, resting his head on her knee and whines until she starts petting him.

“Traitor,” Shaw mutters, but she comes over too and drops down to sit cross-legged on the floor beside Bear. She starts petting him between the shoulders, and leans a bit on Root’s other leg.

Root watches the two of them, and smiles at how adorable they are. Then she half turns to their neglected guest. John looks just as amused by this scene as she is.

“Thought you’d appreciate the company,” he says, nodding towards Bear. “And we can’t take him to the university.”

“Professor Whistler’s still active?”

John shrugs. “Finch said he wanted to finish out the semester, at least.”

“You’re playing bodyguard?” John nods as he takes a step back towards the door. “Have fun terrorising college kids!” Root calls, and gives him a little wave.

Shaw seems content to sit there petting Bear and resting against Root’s leg. Root is more than happy to let her, so they sit there in silence like that for some time.

As Root watches Shaw, she thinks of what the Machine told her regarding Shaw’s whereabouts last night. How Shaw was in the subway, in Root’s bed there, for about half an hour before returning to the safe house.

She worries Shaw is doubting reality again. Or still. They haven’t talked about it since their conversation when they were rescuing Harold from Samaritan, other than Shaw assuring her that she’s fine a couple times. She trusts that Shaw is telling the truth, more or less, and feels like she would come to Root if she was having problems. But she still worries.

Suddenly, Root feels Shaw’s weight lift off her leg, and Shaw speaks.

“I was thinking of looking for my own place.”

“Oh.”

Shaw grabs Root’s arm. Her fingers delicately trace over a weeks-old knife wound, a newer gunshot graze, and the spot where her IV had been. Her eyes stay fixed on Root's arm as she speaks. “But then I realized I’m not on the run anymore. My stuff’s already here. So are you. I guess I can stay here. For now.” Shaw looks up at Root as she finishes, but keeps her hand on Root’s arm.

Root arches an eyebrow. “For now?” Shaw just holds the eye contact, and gives her a tiny little smirk.

 

In the couple weeks since Samaritan’s defeat, most of the things from Root’s little nest in the subway have made their way to the apartment that she’s starting to think of as hers and Shaw’s.

She hasn’t mentioned this to Shaw yet, though. She senses Shaw isn’t quite ready for that yet.

Some of Root’s things are still left in the subway. Mostly equipment or weapons she doesn’t use too often. But also a few valuable things she’s keeping safe. One valuable thing in particular that she’s been holding onto for Shaw is the reason she’s here today. She quickly finds the flat little velvet jewelry box hidden in a crate under the bed, snaps it open to confirm the item is still there, and sticks it in her pocket.

“Miss Shaw?” Harold calls from somewhere over by his workstation.

“Hmm, not yet,” Root says as she steps put into the main room. “Do you think she’d let me take her name if we got married? Might get a bit confusing.”

“You’re getting married? I mean – “ He seems to be torn between alarm and the urge to politely offer his congratulations.

“Relax, Harry. No one’s popped any questions.” He sighs in relief, and mutters _‘oh, thank god’_ under his breath. Too quietly for Root to catch from halfway across the station, but not too quietly for the Machine, who relays it to her. “Yet.” This reminds her of the bridal magazines and a notebook full of ideas she also stashed under her bed, and she makes a note to pick that up before she leaves too.

While Harold’s distracted by an alert that popped up on his computer, she pulls the box out of her pocket. Opens it, looks at what’s inside, and resolves to go through with the other thing she planned to do today.

“Though I do have a different sort of proposal for you.” Harold spins his chair around to face her, alarmed once more. “You’re too easy, Harry. It’s not bad, trust me. I was just thinking, as much fun as living like rats down here is, your old library would be much more convenient. With Samaritan gone…”

Harold looks intrigued by the idea, and he quickly agrees. “Yes, that’s not a bad idea.” Root’s relieved. She didn’t expect convincing him would be difficult but – “It’s curious that you would suggest that specific place, though.” – she was hoping to avoid this. “I would think this station holds much more fond memories for you than the library.”

She has an answer, and knows it will convince him. It just isn’t something she likes talking about.

“Did Shaw ever tell you exactly what they did to her?”

“Not in detail.” She gave them all a basic rundown of the simulations and their lingering effects. But as far as Root knows, she’s the only one Shaw gave a more detailed account to.

“No, she wouldn’t want you to worry about her. Did she tell you how many simulations they put her through?”

“Thousands. I don’t believe she ever mentioned a specific number.”

“Over seven thousand iterations. She said they averaged almost a day of simulation time each. From her point of view she spent _fifteen years_ resisting them. Fifteen years of trying not to even _think_ of this place.” Her voice shakes, and tears well up in her eyes, but she keeps going. “She’s so strong Harry, to come through what she did. But it’s left its mark on her.”

Harold’s expression is one of dawning horror as he puts together the bits he knows to confirm what Root’s telling him. “I never thought …” he trails off, unable to find the words to express himself. Root wanders away, ending up at sitting on the bench, discreetly wiping away her tears. After a while, Harold speaks again. “I’ll call John, and we’ll go check out the library tonight. If everything’s in order, we can start setting up tomorrow.”

Root nods at him. “One more thing, Harry. Do you think you could leave out the part where I suggested this when you tell Shaw?” She has a feeling Shaw would argue adamantly against the move if she knew it was being done, at least in part, for her. Probably citing that returning to a compromised hideout isn’t the best idea. Which isn’t wrong, but with the primary threat to them out of the picture, there’s little danger.

Harold is a bit confused at first, but seems to quickly come to the same conclusions Root did. “Of course.”

 

A few days later, Shaw trudges in late in the afternoon and heads directly for the bedroom with barely a grunt in Root’s direction. Root follows, curious. On the way, she notices Sameen’s boots laying by the apartment door, and her coat uncharacteristically dropped on the floor in the hallway.

In the bedroom she finds Sameen, still fully dressed, sprawled out on the bed.

“Sameen,” she says. Draws it out slowly and carefully the way she knows Shaw likes, and is rewarded with a little smile half- hidden by the pillow. She rolls over, flopping in an exhausted sort of way. But she looks satisfied. Content. Happy, even. “What’d you do today? She never told me about any action.”

“Nah, just hauled a bunch of computer shit up to the library. Don’t see why Finch couldn’t have hired movers.”

“That ‘computer shit’ is the Machine’s servers, Sam,” Root says, though she’s pretty sure Sameen already knows this. She’s also pretty sure Sameen is intentionally trying to provoke this reaction.

“Yeah, but She doesn’t run on them anymore. They’re just backups.”

“They’re what kept Her alive when She had to hide from Samaritan.”

“Sentimental nerds,” Sameen mutters, then sticks her tongue out at Root’s mock offended face. “Come on, let’s have a nap before dinner. We can just get takeout or something.” Root lets Sameen pull her into bed. She’s not tired, and she had a vague sort of idea of making them dinner herself, but she knows Sameen likes to have her by her side when she sleeps. ( _“For warmth, Root. That’s all.”_ )

She drops her phone on the bed beside her in case the Machine wants to talk, so she can text Her without disturbing Sameen. Sameen rolls back over to a mostly face down position, and her right arm flops across Root’s body.

Her fingers land on the strip of skin exposed by Root’s shirt riding up. Slowly, slowly, they inch up under the shirt. Once her hand’s almost fully under the shirt, Sameen stops and flattens her palm against Root’s skin. It’s innocent – as innocent as anything the two of them do, at least. She’s not trying to start anything overtly sexual. Just savouring the contact.

“Thanks.” It’s breathed out, barely a whisper. Sameen doesn’t even appear to be properly awake anymore. Her eyes are closed and her face mostly hidden in the pillow again, but she’s wearing that relaxed, content expression.

Sameen hardly ever expresses her gratitude verbally. Especially not for these little everyday things. That’s what the touch is for, and other gestures like sharing her food with Root. Words don’t normally mean as much to Shaw – to either of them, really – but sometimes she will put her thoughts into words when she feels like she needs to draw special attention to something.

Something like the move back to the library, for example.

She must have worked it out herself. If Harold had let anything slip she would’ve said so. Root feels a flood of relief knowing that Sameen has accepted this, and not interpreted it as Root thinking she can’t handle herself. Shaw’s desire to prove herself is so strong and she’s so unused to people caring for her, even now, that she has trouble accepting favours sometimes.

Root covers the hand resting on her belly with one of her own and gives a gentle squeeze. “Anything for you, Sameen,” she whispers, just as quietly as Shaw.

This, Root knows, is where she belongs. Though she still feels as if things between her and Shaw haven’t returned to normal (and maybe never really will) that certainty and sense of belonging is still there. If anything, it’s deepened.

She has a purpose, a direction. People who love her, a real family that she can show her real self to. And she has a sense of freedom she can’t remember ever feeling. She’s not on the run to the next job, or from law enforcement or enemy agents. Even in the years between leaving Bishop and meeting the Machine she never felt like this. She made her own choices, yes, but she was always looking over her shoulder, her decisions driven by old enemies and new jobs.

Now, though she’s free to choose her own path, she doesn’t feel the urge to change much. She’s right where she wants to be.

 

It’s the middle of the afternoon, and Root is sitting at the kitchen table with parts of a disassembled Roomba strewn around her and its control unit plugged in to a laptop when the Machine suddenly speaks to her.

“ _Looks like Sameen’s about to need a hand._ ”

“Show me,” Root says, and the Machine streams the relevant video feed to Root’s laptop. It’s not the best picture, but it’s clear enough to see Shaw in some kind of warehouse, hiding behind a crate, while a handful of goons near the edge of the frame are firing automatic rifles in her direction.

Root picks up her phone, and connects directly to Shaw’s over the mesh network.

“How’s it goin’ Sam?”

“ _I’m in a bit of a tight spot here._ ” Shaw’s breathing is a bit heavier than normal, and the distinctive crackle of a full auto burst from an AK carries over the line.

Despite the situation – and really, for Shaw it isn’t all that bad – she can’t pass up the opportunity presented by Shaw’s choice of words. “But you love getting in to my tight –“

“ _Root._ ” Root grins and almost feels like high-fiving herself. Shaw always enunciates her name carefully, but the especially hard, annoyed snap she says it with is something special.

“That’s not what I was going to say. We really need to work on this finishing each other’s sentences thing.” Shaw pops up to return fire while Root speaks, so it takes her a while to respond.

“ _Could you just get your ass down here already?_ ”

“You know my ass is yours anytime you want, sweetie.”

Shaw growls at her.

Root drops her phone in her pocket, but leaves the call connected. She’s still fully dressed from going out for breakfast with Shaw, so she heads right to the second bedroom. She takes a couple toys out of one the gun lockers there, and grabs a few already loaded USP magazines just in case. All of that goes in a backpack, and on her way out of the apartment she takes both of their motorcycle helmets.

 

As Root’s pulling up to the warehouse, Shaw says, “ _I’m almost out._ ” She stops just outside a wide open loading door, not thirty feet behind Shaw. Root disconnects the call and flips up the visor of her helmet.

“I got you, babe,” she says as she’s pulling a grenade launcher out of the backpack. Shaw hears her, turns around, and gives her a wicked grin when she sees the weapon.

It’s a new one, a semi-auto model with a drum magazine. With her right shoulder still a bit tender, she fires it left handed, with the stock braced against her hip. Her aim suffers a bit, but smoke grenades don’t need to be all that accurate.

With its six round magazine expended, she hurriedly stuffs it back into the backpack. The chattering automatic fire has dropped off, and a thick curtain of smoke hides the shooters. “Time to go, Shaw.”

Shaw makes a fighting retreat towards Root, the last of her ammo spent precisely kneecapping her enemies through the smoke at the Machine’s direction.

She takes both the backpack and her helmet, then hops onto the bike behind Root. This time rather than carefully putting her hands on the tank and leaving space between them, she wraps her arms around Root’s middle and presses herself flush against her back. Root allows herself a second to savour the little thrill at Shaw’s closeness before speeding off.

“Nice bike,” Shaw says once they’re well away from any remaining danger and in the regular flow of traffic.

“I bought it yesterday.”

“You bought it? With money that was actually yours?” Shaw’s disbelief is obvious, and Root is thankful her face is covered by her helmet.

“Yep.” Okay, so maybe _technically_ it wasn’t her money. But it’s not like Samaritan is around to use it anymore. And she figures they deserve some kind of reward for saving the world and all that.

 

Root takes the extra-long way home, just to bask in Shaw being wrapped around her a little longer. Shaw doesn’t seem to mind all that much, though.

 

Back at the apartment, they collapse on the couch together, both grinning and a little winded after racing up the stairs. Sameen’s sitting spread out in the middle, Root laying down with her head in Shaw’s lap and her feet dangling off the end.

“We should grill that steak that’s in the fridge,” Shaw says. Root takes a mental inventory of what other food they have.

“Have to get some stuff. Potatoes, maybe.”

“Beer too,” Shaw adds.

Root hums in agreement.

Something, maybe the angle Root sees Sameen’s face from while laying in her lap, causes a foggy memory to stir. A promise Sameen made to her while she was in the hospital.

“Hey, Sam?” Sameen grunts. “Remember when you said that after I got out, we’d talk about us? Our relationship?”

“That doesn’t sound like something I would say,” Sameen says, trying to brush her off. But Root can tell, by the way she tenses a little and her breathing hitches a bit that Shaw knows exactly what she’s talking about.

Root pulls herself upright and spins around to sit properly next to Shaw. “Sameen.”

Sameen sighs, her unfocused stare fixed on the floor in front of them. She rakes a hand through her hair, then turns and looks directly at Root. “I can’t do touchy-feely crap. I’m not gonna say _I love you_ or some bullshit because it wouldn’t be real. But you’re important to me, okay? That’s what I can give you.”

“I know, sweetie. I – “ Root smiles, lets out a little chuckle, and shakes her head. This is new territory for her. Not just being at a loss for words, but feeling and wanting to express what she’s trying to say to Sameen. She reaches over, slowly, gently grabs Sameen’s hand. Waits for her to respond, lace her fingers into Root’s and even squeeze back a little. “I’m only going to say this once because I know you’re uncomfortable with it and I know saying it will never mean as much to either of us as actually showing it. I love _you_ , Sameen. Because of who you are. I don’t want some cliché of a relationship. I definitely don’t want you to try to change or pretend with me. I just want whatever you can give me.”

Her gaze drops down to their joined hands as she speaks. Sameen runs her thumb very deliberately over Root’s. She’s briefly transfixed by this, always amazed when Sameen is so gentle with her. Then she takes the cue to look back up and meet her eyes again. She sees something, some intensity there she can’t read, or isn’t confident she’s reading correctly.

“That’s really enough for you?” Sameen asks, her voice low.

Root feels tears prickle in her eyes and tries to hold them back. She thinks that even with how open Sameen is being with her now, crying might be pushing it a little too far. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted, Sam.”

Sameen’s face remains stoic, but she gives a little nod. Root feels the tears, happy tears, run down her face even as she smiles and laughs, so she hides her face against Sameen’s shoulder.

After a while, she feels Sameen tense a bit. “Sorry,” Root says as she pulls away. But the look she doesn’t find any discomfort on Sameen’s face.

“It’s okay,” she says after a bit. She flexes her arm that Root now realizes she was squishing. She tentatively settles back down beside Sameen. “You’re very real. It’s nice, I guess.” At this, Root relaxes more, takes Sameen’s hand again and squeezes it. She’s almost starting to drift off to sleep when she remembers the little velvet box she retrieved from the subway a few days ago, but hasn’t yet found the time to give to Sameen.

She shoots to her feet, throws a quick “Wait here,” over her shoulder at Sameen, and runs off to the second bedroom. It doesn’t take her long to get the box from her gun locker and return.

She falls back into her place next to Sameen, taking the opportunity to scoot a little closer and drape her left arm around Sameen’s shoulders. With her right hand, she holds out the box. Sameen tenses a bit when she sees it, and Root almost wants to roll her eyes.

Instead, she flips open the box. Inside, on a red and gold ribbon with a chain strung through it, is a medal. A silver profile of a man’s face, wreathed in gold, with a little red star, hammer and sickle, and banner reading “ЛЕНИН”. Shaw’s Order of Lenin, that Root found in the subway after her capture, and kept safe for nearly a year.

Sameen smiles a little as she takes the medal, and runs her thumb over the gold detailing and red star.

“I suppose you know the story behind this?”

“Maybe. I wouldn’t mind hearing it from you, though.”

Sameen studies her for a moment, then starts speaking. Root lays her head down on Sameen’s shoulder and curls up into a more comfortable position against her.

This is exactly where she belongs.


End file.
